Home
by Flying Banana Dinosaur
Summary: Quan has returned to Leonster from his studies in Belhalla just in time for the harvest festival. He (kind of) has a plan to carry out, which winds up (kind of) getting interrupted when he discovers a young boy in need of a friend. He never was good at doing the logical thing, now, was he?


Note: This starts off wayyyyy slow. I apologize. Also, this started out as a one-shot that has long since expanded into a monster, so there is no logic behind where the chapters begin and end. Please don't try to make sense out of any of it, because it won't be happening.

* * *

The streets of Leonster's castle town were especially busy during the autumn months. The harvest festival was anticipated from the very moment it ended right up until the King's ceremonial speech the next year. Peasants and nobles alike crowded in the town market to bid farewell to the warmer seasons, sipping from cups of hot cider and complaining about the inevitable weather, while others rushed about, purchasing what grain, fruits, or vegetables they would need to survive in the coming weeks – which was usually quite a bit, given the bountiful harvests the land was known for.

Above all else, everyone looked forward to the last night of the festival. As dictated by tradition, the royal family would host a massive hunting party starting from the first day of the celebration. Before the dark ages of the Loptyrian Empire, the spoils of the hunt were reserved for nobility, but now the feast was prepared and served in the town center. The "new tradition," started by Crusader Noba, was meant to be a reminder of the bonds between everyone, regardless of age or social status; it was a sort of reward for the soldiers who had fought at her side... But, more recently, it had become an excuse to drink and be merry and bitch about the cold.

Not that Quan minded. After studying in Belhalla for nigh eight years, he felt glad to be home. Of course the great military academy had its scheduled recesses, and he'd visited his homeland for months at a time, but there had always been a certain yearning during this time of the year that he just could not ignore. To be here now, with his father armed for the hunt and his mother dolled up in one of her favorite dresses... Well, it just felt right.

The cacophony of the market followed him as he made his way through the streets. He knew better than to hope for any sort of quiet during the next few days, but he didn't mind that either. The laughter and singing were a comfortable contrast to the final days of his studies, which had been filled with naught but the sounds of textbook pages rubbing one another and his unit's commander barking orders in that peculiar way that reminded him of a very strict, very stodgy hound. That was over now, at least; he had passed his tests with ease. He had demonstrated proper weapon technique, recited the histories of parts of Jugdral he wasn't entirely sure existed, and led a mock team to victory in a practice skirmish as their commander – and he was thankful it was all over.

It was most definitely good to be home.

Quan smiled to himself as he meandered about the streets. He stopped in several of the small shops, not exactly sure what he was looking for, but enjoying the sights anyway. Not a soul among the stall keepers along the way recognized him as his father's son, and for that, he was also thankful. He had dressed in the drabbest clothes he owned – those he had worn beneath his uniform at the academy – to avoid catching any attention. Within the walls of that institution, there had been no titles, no persnickety social customs, no lesser-born knights sucking up to the higher-born sons of nobles... or, that had been the idea of the place, anyway. All of that had happened anyway. But, he and his peers had dressed in plain clothes and talked to each other as equals in sight of their professors, and he had enjoyed that. Today, that was what he wanted as well, in order to find _something_ worth presenting to Ethlyn as a token of his feelings for her.

That wouldn't happen if he had fifteen merchants shoving their wares in his face at the same time, fighting for the attentions of a prince.

And he couldn't keep putting it off. He'd been home for a total of three days, and Ethlyn was all his mother cared to talk about. If Sigurd hadn't insisted upon bringing his sister along during his visit last winter, this wouldn't have happened so quickly. Then again, Quan didn't really want to argue against it. He'd fallen for the girl the moment he heard her telling that brother of hers off, and he _did_ plan to ask for her hand as soon as he was ready. Which would be as soon as he found a worthy gift to go along with the proposal.

"_You're being too romantic,"_ Sigurd had yawned when he'd told him that. _"She'd rather have a good sword than more jewelry, honest."_

Quan wasn't entirely certain he trusted that advice, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared. He would find her a good sword _and_ something pretty. And maybe some candies from that nice shop across town, just in case neither of his gifts would suffice. (That had been his mother's idea. He made a mental note to thank her again when he returned to the castle later that evening.)

Soon enough, he found a jeweler whose masterful pieces were the vision of perfection. "Please have these sent to the castle on the morrow. They're for the prince."

The man seemed ready to ask just who he was, but settled for, "Gladly, sir," when he saw the vast overpayment.

That made the rest of his mission easier. Before he'd been shipped off to Belhalla, his father had given him the name of the best smith in Leonster. "If you do well in your studies, we'll commission a special weapon from my old friend," King Calf had said. While he hadn't been especially worried about his son's academic prowess, Quan knew that he _had_ worried about his combat skills. _"Truly, the blood of Noba is strong in this one,"_ he could remember one of his tutors saying amidst laughter from his peers. _"Poor child couldn't use a sword if his life depended on it. Tell me, Quan: can you even stab a potato with a fork?" _

And then Eldigan of Nordion had proved himself to be the worst jouster in the history of the academy, and all had been forgiven.

Quan missed his friends already, but he would see then soon enough, he knew. Sigurd and Eldigan would certainly attend his wedding. But, before that, he had to find a suitable sword, which meant finding the smith's place. His new quest lasted longer than the search for jewelry had. While walking through the plaza, he found someone who had heard of the man, who told him that the shop's entrance was in a tiny alleyway nestled between a bakery and a dress shop. It was a strange locale for a weapons dealer, let alone a smithy, but he thanked the man for his time and made his way toward the place anyway.

This street was small, but even so, it was crowded with people. Not a person spared him a glance as he searched for his destination. By the time he found the dress shop and bakery, his ankles were sore, his toes had to be blistering, and he was in dire need of something to drink. He almost approached a wine vendor out of desperation, but a strange sight caught his eye, and he stopped to observe.

A young boy stood at the side of the road, clutching a dull hand-painted sign in his hands. His back was against the wall of the dress shop, as if he were afraid of the sheer number of people walking past. It wouldn't have been odd; plenty of children were out that day, shouting at passersby to come into their parents' shops, but this boy wasn't doing anything at all. He just stared at nothing in particular and stood there, as if waiting for something. As he looked at the silent child, the name on the sign caught his attention – apparently, this boy was supposed to be ushering people to the very shop he was looking for.

Quan tried his best to look like a nice guy. The children who attended the military academy in their first year were inherently obnoxious, so he hadn't cared much to speak nicely to them as a senior student. But... this boy looked almost afraid of the crowd, so Quan felt a bit sorry for him. Foregoing the promise of sweet apple wine, he approached the child, his best smile in place.

"Excuse me, but..."

The boy jumped, as if drawn from deep in his thoughts. "I-I'm sorry!" he stammered, his wide eyes focusing on Quan. "W-we have the finest weaponry in all of Leonster! C-come to my family's shop, and y-you won't be disappointed!"

"Could you show me the way?"

Quan didn't expect the boy's demeanor to change so suddenly. That distant expression turned into a determined stare. His lips formed a smile despite the hard look on the rest of his face; it was remarkable, in a way, the bravado of a child on an important mission of his own. "Just follow me!" He then scampered into the alleyway without further hesitation, leaving his customer to follow at an awkward trot.

Quan watched the boy hurry to the shop door, producing a ring of keys from one of his pockets. After but a moment, they entered the building. As soon as he stepped inside, Quan realized that something was off about the whole situation; there was no fire in the hearth, no noise from the smithy in the area beyond the shopfront. There was no kiss of the heat from a forge, no shuffling of footsteps from a proper shopkeeper. "Boy," he asked, "where are your parents?"

The child had disappeared behind the counter, but poked his head over the top to stare at Quan once more. "On a trip," he said, as if this were a simple, common matter. "I'm to watch the shop while they're gone." He ducked back down, only to emerge seconds later with a candle and a tiny bit of flint. The small amount of light the candle gave off didn't do much to help after it had been lit, but Quan accepted it anyway.

Letting his concerns about the future state of the establishment fade, he approached the wall where swords were mounted. He immediately knew why his father had such a high opinion of the place. "These are beautiful," he murmured. "Your father makes these himself?"

"Father makes the blades. They're the strongest anywhere! Mother likes to help, though. She works on the hafts. Sometimes, she lets me stitch the leather for the grip!"

A particularly bright flash caught Quan's eye. He'd found it – the sword he would present to Ethlyn, if it felt half as good as it looked. "Boy – err, what's your name?"

"I'm Finn, sir."

"Finn... May I take this down?"

Finn nodded. "That one is Mother's favorite," he announced proudly.

It was a _reitschwert_, shorter than most men would prefer, but perfect for someone of Ethlyn's stature. Quan lifted the sword from its mount, adjusted his grip, tested the balance. "It's very light," he observed aloud. "Will it hold an edge?"

"Without a doubt! Father used the best steel he could find."

He looked down at the hilt of the sword. The guards and quillons were beautiful, serpentine – elegant. The pommel had been inlaid with gems, and everything but the blade and the grip had been gilded. It was an astounding work of art. "How much will this cost me?"

"They want six thousand for it."

"Really? In that case, I'd like to buy it. Could you hold it for me until tomorrow morning?"

Finn nodded, clearly delighted that he was on his way to becoming a master salesman. "Are you a knight? Are you going to use it to keep the Thracians out of our lands?"

Quan considered dodging the question, but if the child's family was out, he was probably lonely. It couldn't hurt to cheer him up with a story or two, could it? "Well, Finn... I guess you could say I'm a knight. You don't have to worry about the Thracians while I'm around, but... This isn't for me."

"Then who's it for?"

"A beautiful princess." Quan watched as Finn wrinkled his nose.

"Why would you give a princess a sword, though? You're supposed to give them jewelry and flowers." Well, at least somebody had the right of it.

"That's what I thought, but apparently I was wrong. Some princesses like swords." Ladies like Ethlyn, who were hard to come by. Then again, he'd heard from Eldigan that his younger sister, Raquesis, had taken a similar interest in swordplay recently. Maybe it was a holy blood thing? "Perhaps someday you'll meet one for yourself."

"I won't meet any princesses," Finn said. He sounded less excited, perhaps a little too aware of the limits of his social status – much too aware for someone his age. Quan wasn't sure he liked that. "I'm going to take over this shop for Father when I get older. He's taught me how to run the forge, but I'm not allowed unless he's home. Not supposed to light more than a candle."

That explained the lack of fire in the hearth. "You can work a forge? How old are you?"

"I'm ten."

Quan looked the boy up and down. He'd judged him to be at least twelve or thirteen by the way he talked and carried himself, but he'd definitely been wrong. "You're pretty tall for a ten-year-old." Tall and _skinny_. But that just raised another question: "I'd like to see you have a go at making a sword. When will your parents get back from their trip?"

Finn's gaze moved from Quan to the door of the shop. "I... don't know. I'm just supposed to sell things until they get back."

"Did they tell you how long they would be gone?"

"Not really..."

"...When did they leave?"

"Twenty-two days ago."

Quan almost dropped the _reitschwert_. "You've been staying here by yourself all this time?!"

Finn nodded, seemingly unaware that this was a bad thing. "Sometimes, Mother and Father go to visit their friends in the mountains. They say I'm a good worker... And, if you really buy that sword, then they won't even know that..."

"Know what?"

The boy shuffled his feet, looking guilty. "I had to take some of our silver to buy food in the market. It's just bread, but..."

"You've done nothing wrong." Quan wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to console the child, but he was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was supposed to _know_ something. He couldn't remember what. "Why don't we strike a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. If you let me take the sword tonight, we'll go to the plaza together and have a proper supper. You can choose what we eat. Then, we'll stop by my place, and I'll get you the money I owe."

"...I can choose? Really?"

"Really. If you want stewed plums and venison, just say the word. I'll make it happen."

Finn put up a valiant struggle, trying to look as if he were weighing his options seriously. Quan tried not to smile at the sight of it. "I do like stewed plums..."

"Well... maybe you can have them, and I'll find something a little less sweet for myself. Still a deal?"

"...Okay." The boy held out his hand expectantly. Finally giving into his overwhelming urge to grin, Quan took the smaller hand in his own and shook.

* * *

Finn was no liar. Quan became certain of that much as the sun began to sink below the mountains in the distance. The boy _did_ like stewed plums. He also liked goose, sugared yams, cheese pastries, and dried venison. He ate and ate and _ate some more_, and Quan very much feared that he would make himself sick. Alas, he couldn't bring himself to stop shelling out for the child's treats; the very moment the thought crossed his mind, he imagined living three weeks on nothing but bread, and guilt ushered another coin into the hand of a vendor. At least his pockets were growing lighter to counterbalance the weight of the sword on his belt, and whatever he spent would help his people would prosper a little more. Right...?

"We should probably get a move on, Finn. It's getting late, and we haven't made it to my house yet. It would be unsafe for you to walk home with a whole six thousand gold after dark."

Finn yawned in an _extreme_ fashion. He murmured his complacent agreement and tromped alongside his companion, eyelids clearly growing heavy to match his stomach. Quan supposed he could find a place for him to sleep at the castle for the night, but what if Finn's parents returned to find their child gone? Being at market for a few hours was one thing, but to spend an entire night away from home...

Well, there was no way he was going to lead a horse through these crowds without at least two members of the royal guard clinging to him, and he wasn't going to make it on foot until he, himself, got some rest. It seemed like more trouble than it was worth. After some deliberation, he decided he would personally escort Finn home in the morning, and if the boy's parents were there, he would apologize and offer them some token of his sincerity... that is, if he could keep from speaking ill words to them. Though Finn's maturity seemed beyond his years, he was but a child – defenseless, if someone had decided to rob the shop! The very thought was enough to turn his stomach.

"You can stay the night with me, all right?" he offered.

Finn mumbled something that might have been a thank-you if he had bothered to open his mouth. The sight was enough to melt Quan's heart a little more. He'd had a younger sister once, and while he didn't remember much about her, he could remember the things she did – the way she yawned, and complained, and didn't know much about anything despite her never-ending chatter and the curiosity that had fueled it. He sometimes thought that he missed her, even, but those thoughts never amounted to much. Life had continued on, and now here he was with this poor, neglected child who, at the moment, could hardly lift his feet off the cobbled stone below.

"Here – you can ride on my back."

Finn didn't argue.

* * *

"_Where_ did you find a child? Whose is he? Where have you been?"

"It's nice to see you, too, Mother," Quan greeted. Upon his arrival at the castle, he'd asked a maid to find and prepare a room for Finn, who had long since fallen asleep. He had expressly requested for her to keep it on the down-low. Things never played out exactly as he'd planned, he realized, while Queen Alfiona continued her barrage of questions.

"That's not funny," she scolded. "Your father almost put off the hunt until tomorrow!"

_That_ was probably because he'd wanted Quan to lead the hunt in the first place. "I told Father that I was going out. He didn't seem to have a problem with it."

"Don't play that with me. I spoke to him, and he assumed you would have taken a knight or two along! Don't you know how dangerous that was? There are bound to be hundreds of thieves about the town this time of year. And you weren't even armed! I couldn't bear to live on if I were to lose another child, Quan!"

"Mother...! You don't need to go that far. I haven't been home in ages. Nobody could have recognized me – and they didn't."

"Well, not dressed like _that_, they wouldn't." And that was that. "Tell me, where did you go? Why couldn't you have taken someone along? I don't like this secrecy..."

"Mother, you're going to wake the boy." After making sure that Finn was properly covered, and that the treacherous maid had properly set the fire (because she obviously couldn't handle his other requests), he took his mother by the hand and led her out of the room. Once they were far enough from the door, he released her hand and leaned against the wall.

"Tell me," pleaded Alfiona. "You haven't gone around causing trouble, have you?"

"Of course not!" That was Sigurd's job. "Since you're so insistent, I went to find a gift for Ethlyn. I'd like to travel to Chalphy after the festival's end, so that I may ask for her hand. I wanted to keep it a private matter... You know what would have happened if I'd taken so much as one servant. They would have slipped up and called me Prince in the street, and I would never have escaped the crowd."

The woman visibly relaxed, a smile replacing the worried frown she'd worn until that point. "Lady Ethlyn is lucky to have won the heart of such a romancer. Honestly, Quan, sometimes you're more than I can handle..."

His cheeks burned no matter how many times he'd heard that in the past. "I find the matter of our affections to be highly personal, you know. I don't want the news to travel, or for all of her court to badger her before she accepts! The least I can do is earn her hand of my own accord, in the truest of fashions, and I cannot hope to accomplish that unless I am able to act at my own discretion for now. Please, allow me this privacy."

"I can't argue with you, can I? As long as you promise not to do it again." She laughed and shook her head as she'd done so many times before, and Quan knew he'd been forgiven – at least for the matter of slipping out alone. But he knew his mother well, and she was _not_ finished with him. "So, did you find a suitable present for your lady?"

He presented to her the sword upon his belt. He could tell by the way her eyes widened, how she gently ran her fingers down the edge of the blade, and how she tested its balance for herself that she was almost jealous; his lady mother was a born warrior who had ridden against the Thracians at the border time and time again, and she knew the value of such a well-crafted weapon. By the time she relinquished it, and it was back in the sheath at his side, he knew he'd done good by her rule – and he couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of himself for that.

"I'm sure she will love it," said the woman, and so he had won her over. "But, that mark on the blade... It seems familiar, somehow. Where did you get it?"

"Between a dress shop and a bakery," he laughed. "Father once told me that he had utmost faith in a particular smith, so I paid his store a visit."

"Oh, I think I remember now. What was the man's name? Did he not work as a mercenary some time ago?"

"I'm not certain what he did, myself. I just know that he fought at Father's side."

She nodded. "Right, so... the boy. Is he...?"

"The man's son? Yes." Quan felt the pride and warmth from moments ago fading as he recalled the dark, lonely shop. "I... It seems our master smith went off a few weeks ago, leaving his son to watch over the place."

"He was alone?"

"Yes, though I'm sad to say it. Mother, I couldn't leave him there like that! The boy is half starved." He was expecting the empathy of a mother in response, but the world was still intent on making his life harder.

"My son is a kidnapper." Alfiona sighed, then, and clasped her hands at the front of her skirts. "No matter how you may disagree with a person's parenting, you _cannot_ go around taking their children. What will your father say when he has to apologize to his old friend for this potential scandal? If the boy is an apprentice, his father may well be expecting him to make sales in his absence! It's his livelihood – his family's, even – that you've toyed with. And here, you've gone taking him on some silly adventure to the castle. What good will that do him when he returns home?"

"It will do him six thousand gold good," he replied shortly. "That's likely on par with their usual sales for a month, wouldn't you think?"

"Six _thousand_?"

"M-my personal savings from the work I did on the side in Belhalla. I didn't take anything from Leonster's coffers. _Please_ don't look at me like that." Quan decided it was a good time for a change of subject, even if it meant returning to the former one. "Look, all I did was take the boy out to enjoy the festivities and get a good meal. I'll be taking him back come first light. I'll apologize duly if his parents have come home."

"And if they haven't yet returned?"

"I would like to at least check up on him until they come back. What can that hurt?"

"Not as much as what you've done today." She finally smiled again and put a hand on his shoulder. "I understand your feelings, dear, but... Some things just cannot change. People are set in their ways, and if you question those ways, if you try to change them, it may not go as well as you hoped – no matter how decent your intentions. Please consider that before you go rushing into another bad decision."

"All right." He said the words even though it really wasn't. Was this truly what his mother believed, that a child should be left to fend for his or herself for so long? He could not accept it – and _would_ not. Even as she bid him farewell, even as she walked away, he knew that he could not leave Finn alone in that cold, forlorn home. If he had to walk away when the boy's parents returned, so be it, but until then, he had made his (probably stupid) decision.


End file.
